


Various hhanon meme fills

by Dracothelizard



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Crossover, Fluff, Gorgeous Georgians, Kink Meme, Kittens, Lighthearted, Multi, Stupid Death, Vicious Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: These are various fills from the old hhanon meme. These are my gen/non-smutty fills.Originally written back in 2011.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Death/Cheryl!skeleton
> 
> Because you know Death has a massive crush on her. I don't even care what you do with this, I'd just love to see some fluff. Involving Death. Yeah.

He had thought this one through. He had, and Louis could shut up about it. What did _he_ know about women, anyway? Death nodded to himself. Besides, the ladies who came to here clearly were quite taken by him. Well, most of them.  
  
Some of them.  
  
Okay, there had been that blind woman a long time ago. It was still more than stupid Louis had ever had.  
  
"What do you know about women anyway," Death sneered at Louis. "Now be quiet, here she comes!"  
  
He turned to Cheryl with a charming smile. "You look radiant as usual, dear!"  
  
She didn't reply, but that didn't deter him. Cheryl was all business once she was behind her desk. He loved that about her.  
  
"I can't wait to see what idiots we get through here today," he said, smiling. "I do hope it's something very silly! I could do with a good laugh."  
  
She was smiling, so he was clearly on the right track.  
  
"But before we start, Cheryl, there's something-" Keep it together, Death. You can do this. "Something I need to ask you." He turned to grab a bouquet of flowers from behind his chair. It had been left by some stupid poacher who had been picking them to stave off the boredom of waiting for his trap to spring, only to have forgotten where he had put the trap and eventually, he had trapped himself and died.  
  
That had been a good one, Death had laughed himself hoarse over that story.  
  
He just hoped Cheryl didn't remember they were from that poacher, though.  
  
"We've been working together for a very long time, and, er, as you may have noticed, I have come to - to appreciate you." Appreciate? Where had that come from? "Not as a colleague, but as a - a friend." Much better, nice save. "And perhaps, maybe, some day, something more than friends?" He held up the flowers. "So, these are for you. I know they aren't as beautiful as you, but I was hoping you would... well, there's no need for the silent treatment!"  
  
Her silence turned even frostier.  
  
"Yes, well, I _know_ they're from that poacher we had in last week, but where am I supposed to get flowers from?!" This wasn't going at all as he had hoped. He turned to Louis in annoyance. "And you can stop smirking as well, you know. Idiot."  
  
He looked down at his papers. Better to pretend the whole thing hadn't happened. "NEXT!"  
  
He would think of a new plan to woo Cheryl. A better one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:   
> Lord of the Manor's Son/Georgian Voter
> 
> What daddy's little politician wants, daddy's little politician gets.

"How nice of you to drop by," the Lord of the Manor said, smiling as Mr. Lewis sat down, perched uncomfortably on the chair.   
  
Mr. Lewis smiled back a little nervously. "How could I ignore a summons from my Lord?" he replied. He really hoped he hadn't been summoned here for anything bad. The son _had_ won the election with a landslide, as expected.   
  
"Yes, you have been serving me dutifully over the past years," the Lord mused. He was still smiling in that slightly unsettling way. "I wonder, will you serve my son as well?"  
  
Oh great, it was about that idiot son. Mr. Lewis sighed. "Well, of course I would. But he is in Parliament, at the moment, so-"  
  
"Actually he's not right now. Nothing important is being discussed, so I thought it best to keep him at home. Away from the riff raff in London, you understand," the Lord of the Manor explained.  
  
Yes, Mr. Lewis thought. Best to keep the son away from anyone else trying to influence him. "But, er, why did you want to see me, my Lord?"  
  
"My son has taken a liking to you, for some reason," he explained, eyeing Mr. Lewis with some disdain. "Can't imagine why."  
  
"Oh." Because what else could he say? "And?"  
  
The Lord of the Manor gave him a significant look. "What my son wants, he gets. That way, I get what I want. See, everybody's happy."  
  
Mr. Lewis thought that he wouldn't be very happy with that arrangement. "When you say want..."   
  
"Does it matter?" the Lord said dismissively. "Just ask yourself, Mr. Lewis, do you like owning land?"   
  
"Yes, but -"  
  
"Then I'll have servants bring you to my son's room immediately," he replied, and rang the bell. "I trust you won't cause any trouble."  
  
Mr. Lewis gulped. "Wouldn't dare to," he muttered.   
  
He _hated_ the Georgian voting system.

*

As Mr. Lewis was shown into the son's room, he saw that the son still looked as happy and emptyheaded as he had at the voting booth. The boy was lucky he had a pretty face.  
  
"Hurrah, you're here!" the young man said, overjoyed and bouncing up from his chair. "Would you like some tea? Or cake? We have apple pie. Right?" He eyed the servant standing behind Mr. Lewis.  
  
"Yes, sir," the servant said, curtseying swiftly.  
  
He beamed at her. "Excellent, tea and apple pie for me and my new friend it is!" He walked over to Mr. Lewis, took him by the arm and guided him over to a chair. "Have a seat."  
  
Mr. Lewis smiled back uncomfortably for a few moments, expecting the son to say something more. Like what he wanted, for instance.   
  
"Beautiful weather we've been having, isn't it?" the son said, still smiling.  
  
"Certainly." Mr. Lewis shifted in his chair. "My father said you wanted me?"   
  
The son nodded vehemently. "Oh yes! You see, I thought it was so nice of you to vote for me in that election."  
  
Mr. Lewis sighed. "Well, to be fair, there weren't any other candidates..."   
  
"That doesn't really matter, does it? You still voted for me." The son looked awfully pleased and proud. "Which I thought was very nice."  
  
"It was no problem." Mr. Lewis drummed his fingers on the table. "So, er, why have you asked me here?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but it would be best to have it over with.  
  
The son looked a little embarrassed. "You'll think I'm being silly."  
  
He already did. "I won't," he said. This was going to be bad, and he told himself to brace for the worst. These aristocrats were deviants, all of them, and there was no telling what they were like in private.   
  
"Will you play shuttlecock with me?" the son eventually asked, looking at Mr. Lewis with hopeful eyes.  
  
For a moment, he thought the son had asked for some perverse act he simply had never heard of, but then he realised what was actually asked of him. "You want a game of shuttlecock?"   
  
The son nodded, smiling eagerly. "Yes please. Daddy never plays with me anymore, he's always too busy, and my sister got married and moved out, and my other brother is in London on business, and-"  
  
"I think I got the picture, thank you," Mr. Lewis said, holding up his hand. He was summoned here to be this young man's... friend? "But what about your friends? Er, fellow MPs, perhaps?" There had to be other ridiculous young men the son could play games with.   
  
"I don't really have friends," the young man muttered sadly. "And Daddy doesn't want me talking to strangers, and, well, I talked to you at the voting so you're not a stranger." He beamed at Mr. Lewis again.  
  
Mr. Lewis just stared at the young man. He had no friends? At all? That was just sad. "And you decided to ask for me?"  
  
The son shrugged. "Well, if you had refused Daddy said he would shoot with his rifle." He smiled. "He's a very good shot; he shot a poacher just last week!"   
  
"That's... great," Mr. Lewis replied. "So, er, shuttlecock, you said?"

*

The game of shuttlecock was a surprisingly fun one, and the Lord's son called for a break when tea and the apple pie were brought in. "That was fun, wasn't it?" the son asked, looking just a little anxious.  
  
"It was," Mr. Lewis agreed. "So, you just wanted someone to play shuttlecock with?"  
  
The son shrugged. "Well, not just shuttlecock, obviously! That'd get boring. There are other games we can play as well."  
  
Mr. Lewis had to smile. He was starting to like this arrangement. The son was just desperate for a friend, and if he had to be that friend, that would be fine. "Sounds wonderful," he replied. "And this is some excellent pie."   
  
"We have good servants," the son agreed. "They have to be, otherwise Daddy shoots them." He smiled at that. "Or he lets me! That was great fun."  
  
Being threatened with a rifle was a good way to make anyone listen. "I can imagine."   
  
There was a knocking on the door. "Just coming to see if everything's all right, son."  
  
"It's fine, Daddy!" the son shouted back. "We've just played some shuttlecock, and I won."   
  
At that, the door burst open, and the Lord of the Manor eyed the both of them suspiciously as Mr. Lewis took another bite of the delicious apple pie. "You played a game?" he asked.  
  
The son nodded happily. "Yes, and I won. Aren't you proud, Daddy?"   
  
"Yes, well done," the Lord muttered, and narrowed his eyes at Mr. Lewis. "Son, when you said you _wanted_ Mr. Lewis..."  
  
"Yes, Daddy?" his son asked, eyes wide. "I thought you said you didn't mind what I did with him? You never play with me, and Mr. Lewis was nice at the voting."  
  
The Lord sighed. "It's fine, son. I just thought you wanted him for something a bit more... grown up."   
  
Mr. Lewis just smiled as the son laughed at his father. "Daddy, grown up things are _boring_!" He turned to Mr. Lewis. "Being in parliament is even more boring than being taught sums!"  
  
"That's terrible," Mr. Lewis said, smiling at the son.   
  
"I shall leave you to your silly games, then," the Lord said, and left them alone again.   
  
Mr. Lewis had to smirk at the man's disappointment. "You know," he said, turning to the son. "If you think work at parliament is so boring, perhaps I could help."  
  
"Oh, would you?" the son asked, delighted. "It's just so _dull_. Daddy tells me how to vote, of course, but then I still need to listen." He pouted. "I'd much rather be playing in the park."   
  
"Of course you would," Mr. Lewis agreed. "Maybe, next time, I could pretend to be you and vote while you're in the park?"  
  
The son grinned. "You would do that for me? Mr. Lewis, you're the best friend I ever had!"   
  
As Mr. Lewis was suddenly ambushed by the son hugging him, he had to agree. This friendship was definitely one of the best he ever had as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mr. Viking/Mrs. Snorradóttir - Viking domesticity
> 
> They had a really sweet moment at the end of the Viking Wife Swap sketch, so I'd like to see more of them. Anything goes, really, just them being an epic Viking couple!

He wanted to talk about something, she could tell from the way he was fiddling with his knife and the remainder of his food. Normally, he'd get up as soon as he was finished eating, off to sharpen his axe or visit the other men in town to plan their next raid.   
  
"What is it, dear?" she asked, as she calmly continued to mend a rip in one of her dresses . There was no way she was going to let those smelly Thralls do it, they'd just get the dress dirty, and then it'd need more washing. It'd be a waste of time, especially as they still had plenty of peat to dig up.  
  
He looked startled, and dropped the knife. "Uhm, oh, nothing, love," he muttered. "It's not important."  
  
It was definitely something. "You've been playing with your hare for a while now."  
  
His hand went up to his hair for a moment, then he went red as he realised what she meant. "Oh! Yes, well, see, the thing is..."  
  
"Spit it out, Bjorn." Honestly, how did he ever get anything done? Admittedly, killing monks didn't require much talking, but if he was as hesitant with his axe as he was with his words, it was amazing he managed to steal any gold at all.   
  
"You know those people who come through the time sewers?" he asked.  
  
Signy nodded. "The ones who followed you on that raid last time? What about them?"   
  
"They, er, they want to film us." He looked at her, clearly worried about her reaction.  
  
She frowned, and stopped sowing for a moment. "Film us?"   
  
"Yeah, you know like they did with our last raid? It's for people who live in the future, to teach them how we Vikings lived. And the Thralls."  
  
"Why would anyone want to know how we lived?" she asked. It wasn't terribly interesting. The raid she understood, but daily Viking life? And the Thralls? What could possibly be interesting about them?  
  
Bjorn shrugged. "I don't know, but they'll pay us."  
  
"Oh, well, that's all right, then. And does this mean you won't go out raiding again soon because of the filming?" It'd be nice to have Bjorn around the house for longer than usual. It was always 'hey love, have some gold to buy yourself something nice, I'm off to kill more monks now' and barely time for a proper conversation. She did miss him when he was gone, and of course she worried, even though he always assured her he'd be safe around the other Vikings and they only attacked completely defenceless monks. There was still the boat journey, and what if some monk got the idea to fight back? They didn't even have children yet, and she didn't like the idea of having to find a third husband. Not now she had finally found one she was quite fond of.   
  
"Er, no, not for a bit, no." He shifted on his seat, and fiddled with the knife again. "Love, there's one more thing..."  
  
"Which is?"   
  
"They, er, they sort of want you to swap places with Mrs. Thrall."   
  
When she looked up from her sowing to glare at him, she could see he had already braced himself for her reaction. And quite right he was too. "What do you mean, swap places with Mrs. Thrall?!"  
  
"It's just for a week," he argued weakly. "You'll only have live in the garden for a week."  
  
"A week! I won't live a day in that pile of dung they call home! Have you seen them? They're barely human!" She couldn't believe he wanted her to live like that for a week. "And you'd be living with Mrs. Thrall! Is that what you want??"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"Is it?" she demanded.  
  
"Of course not, but they said it'd be a fun experiment. Learn more about them and how they live," Bjorn told her, reaching out for her hand.  
  
She quickly pulled it back. "Easy for you to say, you won't have to live in dung!" How could he possibly expect her to agree to this ridiculous idea?   
  
He leaned forward. "Like I said, love, they will pay us. Handsomely."   
  
She eyed him suspiciously. "Meaning you won't have to go on raids so often after?" Because that _might_ just make living in dung bearable.

"Oh, well, I suppose not, with the gold they're paying," he replied, a little surprised. "But going on raids is sort of what I do."  
  
"Well, you can do less of it," she said, and decided to bring up a subject she had wanted to discuss for some time. "I think it's time we had children."  
  
He stared at her. "What?"  
  
"I'm not getting any younger," she told him. "And it's about time we started. Ingrid next door has two boys already, and she's only a year older than I am!"   
  
"Ingrid? Married to Olaf?" he asked, and she nodded. "Well, I'm not surprised. You should see him when we're attacking a monastery, he's the first one in and the last one out."   
  
She smiled. "So, that's settled, then. We're having kids."  
  
"Whoa, I didn't agree to that," he said, holding up his hands. "I never said I wanted to have kids already."  
  
"Well, it's the only way I'll agree to live as a Thrall for a week!" she informed him. "Kids, Bjorn. And I want a word with those time sewer people about what exactly it is they want me to do." And to see if she couldn't persuade them to pay them more handsomely than they planned. Bjorn wasn't the only one who could swing an axe.   
  
Bjorn sighed, and glanced at her. "Are you absolutely sure you want children, love? It's going to change everything, and I will have to go on a raid again at some point."  
  
"It'll be company, won't it?" she replied snippily. She didn't exactly like the idea of being pregnant or giving birth while he was out, but Ingrid and the other women in town would help her. "While you're off killing monks."   
  
"You know it's what I do, you knew that when you married me," he said, looking sympathetic.  
  
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," she grumbled, taking up her sowing again. "You know how many longboats don't make it back home? Do you?"   
  
He sighed, and got up to sit next to her. "Love, if it means that much to you, we'll have children."  
  
"You're just agreeing because you want those time sewer people to film you for a week," she muttered.   
  
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "No, I'm not," he told her. "I do want kids, I just didn't think you'd want them so soon. Olaf's always telling us about Eirik and Ivar, being a father sounds brilliant."   
  
She glanced at him. "D'you mean that?"   
  
He smiled, and pulled her closer. "Of course I do, love. Even if you didn't want to do this wife-swapping plan, I'd still want kids."   
  
"Good," she said, smiling as well and leaning into him. It was quite nice, to have these little moments of peace between the two of them.  
  
"But you'll do it, right?" he asked, a little anxious. "Live as a Thrall for a week."   
  
Trust Bjorn to ruin the moment. "Yes, dear, I'll live with Mr. Thrall for a week." She shuddered at the thought, but she'd be able to handle it.   
  
"Excellent!" He grinned. "Now then, love, I think it's time I kept my end of the bargain."  
  
"What do you - Bjorn!" she shouted, as he got up and lifted her over his shoulder. "Put me down!"   
  
"You wanted kids!" he told her happily as he ran to their bed. "Best to get started before the time sewer people arrive."   
  
Well, he had a point with that, she thought. "Careful!" He could sometimes get a bit too carried away, and she didn't want a bruise just because he had mistaken her for a bag of loot, to be thrown around as much as he liked.   
  
He did put her down on the bed carefully, and let out a cheerful roar as he lay down beside her.  
  
She had to laugh. "I told you not to do that around the house."   
  
"You love it, really," he argued, kissing her.  
  
And, well, maybe she did. She just wasn't going to tell him that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted, Blenkinsop and Maltravers find some kittens.

The good thing about their boarding school being rather big and old was that it had a few half-demolished sheds on the terrain, once used for storage but no longer necessary. They were excellent to play around in, Maltravers and Blenkinsop had soon discovered.   
  
"Blenkers, look!" Maltravers shouted, and his friend immediately came running. They'd just been playing Spies, and had done a lot of sneaking around through bushes. Maltravers had been hiding behind one of the sheds, and had obviously found something interesting.  
  
"What is it?" Blenkinsop asked.   
  
Maltravers just grinned. "A litter of kittens!" he said, pointing at four small, fluffy and adorable critters.  
  
"Where d'you think their mum is?" Blenkinsop asked, as he knelt down besides Maltravers and carefully touched the wriggling heap of fluff. "They're so _soft_." One of them, a white one with splashes of black and brown fur, opened its mouth to yawn, and then blinked at him.   
  
Maltravers shrugged. "She's probably left to find some food." He bit his lip. "Someone should keep an eye on them. I heard Headmaster say he saw foxes around the other week."  
  
Blenkinsop smiled as the spotty kitten batted at his finger with a tiny paw. "Well, I think that someone should be us!" he declared, carefully stroking the kitten's side.  
  
"Yes, who better than us!" Maltravers also reached out for the kittens, nudging one of the two grey ones with a finger before stroking its back. The grey kitten moved to lean into his touch, looking at him with big eyes before mewing.   
  
"Have no fear," Blenkinsop told the kitten he'd been stroking, which was now gnawing on his finger, despite barely having any teeth. "Blenkinsop and Maltravers will protect you from any nasty foxes. Yes we will, yes we will," he added, cooing over the tiny cat.  
  
Next to him, Maltravers laughed.   
  
Blenkinsop turned red. "Well, you think they're adorable too!"   
  
"They are," Maltravers said, still petting the tiny grey cat. "And we're going to make sure nothing happens to them." The fourth kitten, white with black splashes of fur, wriggled to get on top of the grey one Maltravers had been stroking. "Oh, do you want some attention too? Yes, you do."  
  
Blenkinsop smirked. "Now who's cooing?"   
  
"Shush," Maltravers replied, eyes on the white and black kitten. "I'm just... guarding it."  
  
"Very closely." Blenkinsop nodded, and removed his finger from the kitten's mouth, grinning as it mewed. "I'm sure their mother will appreciate it."   
  
Maltravers nodded, still stroking the white and black kitten carefully, his other hand on the grey one. "She will. You know, Blenkers, I think we should definitely spend the rest of the afternoon here."  
  
"Yes, and we cannot forsake our guarding duties for anything," Blenkinsop agreed, stroking the spotty kitten's belly again.  
  
"Except supper," Maltravers told him firmly, as the two kittens he'd been stroking started pawing at each other.   
  
Blenkinsop had to agree with them. "But until then, we stay here."   
  
Because being guards was FAR better than pretending to be spies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mrs/Mr Noble fluff, convincing him to call it the "Noble Peace Prize"
> 
> "My furry cheeked little death merchant" is the best endearment ever. Now how did she convince him to not call it "prize-a-mite".

"Darling?" she asked, bringing him his tea. "About that... prize of yours?"  
  
"The prize-a-mite, dear," he replied, as he put the flasks down and beamed at her. "What about it?"  
  
"I was thinking about the _name_ ," she said, smiling back.   
  
He frowned at her as she poured the tea in his cup. "It's a fine name. Prize-a-mite. It's a prize."   
  
She nodded. "Yes, darling, I think that's an excellent idea, but you do want people to remember that it was your idea, right?"  
  
"Of course!" he huffed, taking the cup from her. "I don't want to be remembered for dynamite."  
  
"But darling, that was such a brilliant invention!" She reached out to stroke his cheek, and smiled. "You are my little genius."  
  
He huffed again. "Better, dear. Better."   
  
She shook her head. He was clearly still annoyed over the death merchant thing. "So, if you want to make sure you are remembered, you should include your name in the prize..."   
  
"Hmm," he said, as sipped his tea. "You mean like the, er, Nobel prize?"  
  
She smiled at him. "Oh, darling, that's a _marvellous_ name!"   
  
"You think so?" he asked, frowning a little. "I rather like prize-a-mite."  
  
"Darling," she said, and moved to take his hand in hers. "I think the invention of such a prize deserves a celebration."   
  
He smiled again. "I suppose it does, dear."  
  
"Yes, and I believe it deserves your favourite meal," she said, patting his hand. "As I'm sure the _Nobel prize_ will become very successful."   
  
"But prize-a-mite is truly a name that..."  
  
"And what would you like for dessert, darling?" she continued briskly. "After your lutfisk?"  
  
His eyes shone at that. "Lutfisk! Well, it has been a while since I've had your pannkaka..." He trailed off, and looked at her pleadingly.  
  
It was his eyes she had fallen for all those years ago, and she kissed him on the cheek. "Lutfisk and pannkaka it is, my darling. Now you go and make sure that the Nobel prize happens."  
  
"Yes, yes," he muttered. "Nobel prize... another marvellous invention of mine."   
  
She smiled at him again, pleased that for such a genius, he really was rather easy to fool sometimes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Errant comment fic with Dr. John Snow and the Victorian Beer Salesman for the following comment:
> 
> This is the best thing ever  
> I love you so much

"I love you, man," he muttered, wrapping his hand around the doctor's shoulders. "You're the - the besht."  
  
Dr. Snow let out a sigh. "Quite."  
  
"And so's - so's your beer. You ssshould try it," he insisted, nuzzling against Dr. Snow's jacket. It was nice.  
  
"I really don't think so," Dr. Snow replied. He coughed. "Would you terribly mind letting go of me?"  
  
He shook his head, still buried into Dr. Snow's shoulder. "Nnno. I'm thanking you. By giving you a big hug." He wrapped his arms tighter around the doctor. "I like your jacket."  
  
"That's nice," Dr. Snow muttered. "But that really is enough gratitude for now."  
  
He leaned back, and blinked up at Dr. Snow. "Are you sshure?" he asked, with his hands still on the doctor's shoulders to keep himself steady. "'Cause I can do more than hug you." To prove his point, he leaned in to give the doctor a firm kiss on the mouth. "See?" he said, sniggering a little at how ticklish the doctor's whiskers had felt against his cheeks.  
  
Dr. Snow stared at him. "Yes. Quite. That's - quite." He was a little flustered. "Definitely... definitely enough gratitude."  
  
"Issh it?" he asked. He wouldn't mind kissing the other man again.  
  
Dr. Snow quickly nodded. "Yes, yes, it is." He looked around. "How about another one of my beers?"  
  
He grinned, and let go of Dr. Snow to accept the glass. "You really are the best, Dr. Snow." He quickly started drinking, leaning against the chair behind him for support. "Mm, delicious! Is there any more?" He looked around, but Dr. Snow had already left. "I guess not."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [Crossover] Gen or Other/Other [Silent Hill]
> 
> Because it's not a proper fandom until someone's got lost in Silent Hill.
> 
> Any character, any pairing, I don't mind. Just give me angst and creepy horror.
> 
> (A/N: It turned out pretty low on the creepy horror.)

James trudges through the seemingly endless halls, and he barely notices when the walls of the historical society shift into complete darkness. He's not surprised. This entire helltown has been changing and shifting since he got here, and all James wants is to sleep and forget for a moment where he is.   
  
The monsters have put a stop to that plan constantly, and the first thing James learned is that there is no safe place in Silent Hill.   
  
He keeps trudging through the darkness, wondering whether he should use his torch or not. Sometimes it's better not to know what's lurking in the shadows.   
  
He rounds a corner and finds himself in a well-lit room. There's a desk with three people, but James only has eyes for the large, hulking It that's sitting on the left, arms folded and helmet towards him. The large spear is lying on the desk, waiting to be used.  
  
"Ah, there's our next victim! I was wondering what was keeping you," the creature in the middle says. It's a skeleton, but dressed in a black robe and with long, blond hair. The skeleton smiles. "So, what's your name?"   
  
"James," he replies, too stunned to say anything else. He glances at the third figure, a bare skeleton with a lopsided black wig. It remains silent and unmoving. A bit like It, except that It is clearly watching and judging him.   
  
The skeleton in the middle looks at him expectantly. "Just James or...?"  
  
"Sunderland," he says. He's still looking at It, and terror freezes every cell in his body. He can't run, his flight instinct has been beaten into submission by this town. If It wants to kill him, so be it.   
  
"Right." The skeleton leans back. "So, James Sunderland, how did you die?"  
  
He blinks. "What? I'm not dead."  
  
The skeleton sighs, and turns to It. "I hate these, don't you?" He looks at James. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asks, sounding a little annoyed.  
  
"Er, I was walking in the historical society," he explains. "And then it got dark."   
  
"Aah, so you died from _boredom_!" the skeleton says, and laughs loudly. He elbows It. "Come on, that was funny, even you have to admit that."  
  
It remains completely still.  
  
"No sense of humour," the skeleton mutters. "Honestly, I almost prefer Louis. Almost." He turns to James. "What else, mate?"

James struggles to remember. "Monsters," he says. "And darkness. So much darkness in this place."   
  
The skeleton taps his fingers on the desk. "Anything _useful_?"   
  
"Holes," James says, and can't help but stare at It, still unmoving but with such terrifying presence. "I've jumped down so many. They seem to go on forever."  
  
"So, you've met a lot of monsters in darkness, and jumped down some very deep holes?" the skeleton asks.  
  
James nods. "Yes."  
  
"And you think you've _survived_?" The skeleton laughs again. "Now that really _is_ stupid. You know, James, I feel sorry for you, I do. You are through to the afterlife." He gestured at a silver archway behind James.  
  
He looks at it warily, but there's an aura of peace and tranquility eminating from it, and he takes one step closer. "Really?" he asks. It feels too good to be true, an escape from this helltown even if it's by dying. He thought death would be more painful than this.   
  
"Hang on," the skeleton says, as It has finally moved and James is frozen again. It brings Its helmet to the skeleton's ear, with the skeleton leaning in to listen to It. "Hm-mm. Hmm. Really? Why? We really need to find you a hobby, you know. Have you tried doing a sudoku?"   
  
James waits until the skeleton and It are done talking.   
  
The skeleton sighs. "Sorry, James, looks you have to go back to the land of the living. Well, the historical society, really. I've been told you can't go to the afterlife because you need to experience more torment and guilt until you've dealt with your many psychological issues."   
  
James just stares at him. "What?"   
  
"I know, I know," the skeleton says, leaning forward. "You should've just gone for psychiatric therapy, much easier than dealing with that." He points at It, which has gone back to looking at James.   
  
"So... what now?" James asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach, but one that's no surprise.  
  
The skeleton sighs. "You go back to your boring historical society to complete your emotional journey, and I expect I'll see you once you're finished with that." He smiles. "And can you bring me a souvenir from the Lakeside Amusement Park? I could do with a teddybear to cheer things up around here. He's no help at all." He looks at It. "I mean it, I am _this_ close to asking Louis back."  
  
It turns to look at the skeleton, and James takes a step back.   
  
Then the skeleton laughs. "Oh, I was only _joking_. You're _far_ better company than that idiot." He looks up at James. "Go on, off with you."  
  
James nods, and trudges back to where he came from: endless corridors in a town that's stopped making sense.


End file.
